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“Thank you so much for helping me out of that crazy predicament,” she said, putting a piece of stray hair behind her ear. “What are the odds of that even happening? So, I really appreciate it.”
Winking at her, I decided this was the perfect time to lay the charm on with a trowel.
“No problem. The price will only be yer name, and yer number,” I said, “and if you could pay in full right now, that would be perfect.”
Chapter Five
Maggie
Well, that had come out of the clear blue. I’d really been having a bad day up to that point. Seeing Raquel and Kenny made it even worse. I had no idea what I would have done if I’d had to face them alone. Quiver and cry probably, much to Raquel’s delight, no doubt.
Kenny didn’t seem as into taunting me as Raquel was. He was a jerk but not completely evil and seemed to still have some concern for me so I would give him some slack there. In fact, it almost seemed as if he was reluctant to go along with it or even to be with her, although I was probably reading too much into that assessment.
Raquel was totally unbelievable, though. She seemed hellbent on destroying me any way she could. Even though I had no idea what I had done to her other than be her step sister, which hadn’t exactly been my choice and which I think I had fulfilled with grace.
It felt good to not have to put up with her cruelty anymore, at least for the moment, but the amusement I felt at seeing her storm out was knee-jerked and short-lived. I was still stuck with the fact that I was alone and she was marrying my ex — and that thought sucked.
After ridding me of my tormentors, I was more surprised than I should have been that my rescuer made the completely reasonable request of knowing my name. When he also asked for my number, I thought that seemed a bit forward, but he had willingly gone along with the trick so I couldn’t really complain. I owed him at least that much.
Plus, who was I kidding? He was hot as fuck. Of course I wanted to give him my number. The wetness in my pussy and tingle down my back was telling me that I would have given him a hell of a lot more under different circumstances.
“Okay, sure,” I said, trying to keep my voice steady, despite the delightful trembling his beauty caused.
I got out the pad I carried by force of the habit formed back when I was still writing regularly and jotted down my name and cell number. I gave him the pad and pen and he wrote out his own vitals.
“McSteele, is that Irish?”
“Kind o’.”
“Mc isn’t Scottish?” I asked dumbly.
“Scots Irish. T’ere’s a lot o’ overlap, especially way back. Technically the Scots started out as a displaced Irish tribe. Mac is old scot. Mc is Scots Irish. Why t’ey call us “micks.” Well, not me, t’at’s more of a Cat’olic t’ing, but generally.”
“Oh,” I said, feeling line an idiot.
There was so much I didn’t know about other cultures, but I sure was willing to learn about his. Or anything about him at all.
“Ye t’ink we should really go to t’eir engagement party?”
“I don’t know. Do you?”
I laughed, surprised he was serious. It sounded like a crazy idea, but clearly I was a crazy person, as evidenced by the fact that I was about to go in to see a therapist.
“Ye, I say let’s give it a bash. Could be a laugh. They’ll be free food, yeah?”
“Of course!”
“Then we should definitely go!”
“Well, that’s settled then!” I said with a giggle.
“Maggie Sanders,” called out the receptionist. “Dr. Benoit is ready for you now.”
I took a deep breath. I had made the appointment so I decided I should still go, but I wasn’t feeling really depressed anymore.
“Well, gotta go,” I told Gavin. “It was nice meeting you. Thanks so much for helping me out. You went above and beyond the call of duty.”
“The pleasure was all my mine,” he said, smiling that cute grin of his. “I’ll be in touch.”
“Good,” I told him, and then immediately felt like an idiot. “I mean, good, because we really should make them jealous as fuck at that engagement party, right?”
I hoped my recovery had been good enough. I knew it was obvious how into him I was but I hadn’t meant to be that forward.
“For sure,” he said, waving at me as I walked off.
“Maggie,” said Dr. Benoit, opening the door to her office when I got there.
“Dr. Benoit,” I said.
I had expected a couch but that was just one of the stereotypes of therapists Dr. Benoit was apparently rebelling against. As well as the notion that they were old, bearded Austrio-German men in ancient tweeds.
